


Zombies: Homecoming

by ArtistBriefcase



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Apocalypse, BAMF Pepper Potts, F/M, Father/Son, Gen, Irondad, Other, Tony Stark doesn't know how to fight, Tony/Pepper - Freeform, Zombies, spiderson, spideyson, welcome to tear your heart out land
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 19:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtistBriefcase/pseuds/ArtistBriefcase
Summary: Tony Stark was never abducted. He never became Iron Man. He lives his life working on projects he hates with people he hates for people he hates. He only has one light in his life, and her name is Pepper Potts. But he can never seem to start any sort of real conversation with her.Peter Parker was never bitten. He never became Spider Man. He 's just a regular high school kid trying to make it through and on to better things. As things go, life is pretty good, but sometimes he feels that he's missing something. Oh, and he's also a talented Martial Arts student.One day, it happens. You know how it goes. Someone eats some bad meat, they go absolutely ballistic, carnivorous, and best of all, contagious. Before too long, before anyone really realizes what's happening, the world is infected with a plague. Survivors resort to calling these brainless humans as they have been called in fiction for decades: Zombies.





	1. J.A.R.V.I.S.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tapdatcass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapdatcass/gifts).



> The relationship between Tony and Peter and purely platonic father/son. Please do not interpret it otherwise.  
> Feel free to critique any inconsistencies/issues you notice. I am a Creative Writing major and am always looking to improve on my work! :)

The sun had long since risen above the horizon, spreading light on this side of the earth. Birds had been tweeting merrily for some time now, and most people had long since rolled out of bed and gone to work. One of Tony Stark’s eyes cracked open and glowered at the sun streaming in brightly from his window. He rolled over onto his stomach and squinted at the clock on his nightstand. It was 11:47 am. For a moment Tony closed his eyes. There wasn’t really anything to do, he reasoned, nothing important anyway; he could just close his eyes and sleep longer, maybe forever. He was drifting off to sleep when a thought occurred to him.

It was almost noon on a Monday, and he was still asleep. He hadn’t been disturbed once. Normally, if he slept in much past 8:00 am on a weekday, his personal assistant Pepper would come and wake him up as he had asked of her several months before. He stared at the clock for a long moment before he reached for his phone and opened it, sitting up as he went. He forced the anxiety that had started to build in his chest down. Maybe Pepper had called in sick and he’d missed it. Maybe she had taken a vacation day. He stopped. Had she taken a day off? He thought he would remember something like that. Then again, he also thought he wouldn’t remember something like that.

He turned on the screen of his phone to be met with nothing from Pepper; no new messages, no missed calls, nothing. But that wasn’t to speak for what he had from other people. His phone was overloaded with messages, calls, and voicemails. He stared at the screen for a long time, frozen, unsure of where to start first. His first thought was that his anxiety had been right--something had happened to Pepper. In a panic, feeling useless leaning over a small screen, he started reading the messages he had been left. He would check the voicemails second, he reasoned. Most people would leave a text message if he didn’t respond to a call.

He had messages from various people he worked with, or knew casually, asking him if he had “read the news” or “heard about what’s going on.” He glossed over these and opened the messages he had from the only person who had messaged him that he cared at all about.

HAPPY: Tony, are you okay? I’m sure you have seen the news. What is going on?

HAPPY: Tony, if you are okay please answer this message immediately.

HAPPY: Is Pepper with you? She won’t answer any of my messages, either.

HAPPY: I’m on my way over.

Tony winced as he read the last message. The time stamp was 10:00 am, almost two hours ago now. If Happy had been leaving to make sure he was okay, he would have been here by now. But why hadn’t he made it? What was going on?

None of the other messages he had received explained what was going on. They all merely had the common thread of something happening that had been on the news that morning, something that would have somehow threatened Tony’s well-being. Unsure of what else to do, Tony opened his internet browser and simply typed in “news.” His fingers were moving slowly, his mind even slower. He couldn’t think of any other way to check the news all of a sudden, though in the back of his mind he was sure there must have been a better way.

In the instance where a local event had taken place, Tony never would have been able to find what he was looking for. In this case, however, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid it.

Countless articles showed up under the “Top News” section at the beginning of the search results. Every news source one could possibly conceive of had an article posted, all within the last few hours, all concerning the same thing: Zombies.

Tony scoffed. Zombies? For a moment, he considered he might still be dreaming. He looked down at himself, but he was still wearing the same briefs and tank top he had fallen asleep in, and he had the right number of limbs, fingers, and toes. He scanned the room around him, looking for any inconsistencies or anything he didn’t remember. As far as he was concerned, everything seemed to be as it should be. He turned back to his phone. He picked an article whose title did not include the word “zombie” and started to read.

It was titled “Countless dead in sudden pandemic outbreak”:

"Some time last night, people started disappearing at rapid rate. Missing people reports skyrocketed at an unprecedented speed. Countless calls have been made to police forces all around the country regarding people getting attacked and even bitten by others. The attackers have been described as deranged, cannibalistic, and undead. Many accounts have come from people claiming that their family members, friends, or even strangers, had been attacked and killed, only to seemingly come back to life moments later. Police have been struggling to respond to these calls, but many stations have already reported loss of contact with forces that have been dispatched. Around 4:00 in the morning, military units have been contacted and released across the country in an attempt to stifle the mad attacks still being reported."

Tony stopped. The article didn’t say zombies, as most of the others had, but it certainly sounded like zombies. He got to his feet, threw on a pair of pants and a jacket, and headed out his room door. He dialed Happy’s number as he went, his mind racing. He would need some kind of weapon, he realized, if he was going to leave the relative safety of his home. His cell phone rung in his ear, but the sound seemed like it was miles away. He hesitated as he stood in his kitchen. It was clean and untouched, almost peaceful. He gazed outside the windows at the land surrounding him. Should he leave? So far, he had been safe here. Perhaps the sheer isolation his home offered would be enough to protect him from what was going on outside. Standing there, it was hard to believe anything had happened at all. The only sign that anything was different was the absence of Pepper.

Happy’s voicemail picked up. Tony cursed. He called Pepper too but to no avail. Without any sort of response, he would be unable to trace either of their phones. He had no way of knowing where either of them had ended up, if they were even alive at all. He shook his head to try and expel the last thought. If he didn’t see it for himself, he decided, he would never believe it. Especially this early on. He had to try and find them.

If Happy had been trying to get to Tony, he reasoned, then he might be able to find some sign of him on the route between their houses. Tony headed towards his basement, his feet tapping lightly on each step as he descended. His father had quite the collection of firearms as Tony grew up. Though most of them were locked away elsewhere, he still kept a safe of a choice few of these guns downstairs. It was left unlocked, and yet the handle had countless months of dust buildup on top of it. He disturbed it now, tossing the small door open. Inside was a small revolver, a 12 gauge shotgun, and an old hunting rifle. Next to each of these was a small supply of bullets and a leather holster for the revolver. The shotgun had its own strap connected to it; however, the hunting rifle had nothing of the sort. Tony was a little surprised by the seemingly measly weapons his father had left in this particular safe. Maybe he had put the one with all the super cool, fancy gear somewhere else. Tony pushed the thought aside; really, it didn’t matter.

Tony tossed the shotgun over his shoulder and slipped the holster onto his belt. He grabbed as much amo as he could and turned suddenly to look around. He would need some sort of backpack, he realized, and food. In his haste to try and find his friends, he had completely forgotten about his basic needs. He rushed back up the stairs, holding the bullets carefully in his arms. In reality, he hadn’t forgotten as much about the fact that he needed to eat as he had forgotten that he might not be coming back. He didn’t let the thought live in his head for long. He was going to go out, find Happy and Pepper, and return here. He felt it would work as a pretty good base of sorts.

He found an old blue canvas backpack and tossed the bullets in there. On top of that he added a couple sandwiches, water bottles, sodas, beef jerky, bread, peanut butter, a couple items he thought might be useful, a change of clothes, and his laptop. He also grabbed a pocket knife out of his bedroom and tucked it into his jeans. He found a pair of old combat boots that seemed to fit the occasion and he donned those as well. They were old, but didn’t show much for it; the shoes looked as if they had been bought yesterday. Indeed, they had never been worn. He grabbed his wallet, his phone, a charger, and hesitated. He stood in the foyer of his home, looking back. He wondered if there was anything he had forgotten.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said aloud to himself. “I’ll be back before too long.” Despite these words, he still waited. He let his eyes scan around around all of the house he could see, as if he was taking it all in. Once he was certain he hadn’t forgotten anything, he tossed the backpack over his shoulder with his shotgun and turned towards the door. He tapped his smartphone in his pocket, “Let’s go, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

From his pocket, his smartphone screen lit up. A stifled British voice spoke from it, “Of course, sir.”

 


	2. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're lost and alone  
> And you're sinking like a stone  
> Carry on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the day Tony wakes up in the previous chapter from a Tuesday to a Monday. Does this matter? Not particularly. Just know I'm aware of the continuity! ;)

The Audi r8 skidded on the road, leaving dust in its tracks. Tony was jumping out the door before it had even gotten to a reasonably slow speed. He tried to duck and roll, but the already awkward attempt was made even more awkward by the shotgun strapped around his torso. His legs slammed into the ground. With a grunt, he awkwardly scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. He looked around him. It seemed no one had seen.

Of course not. He hadn’t come across a single person, or zombie, since he had left his house. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. park the car,” Tony said aloud, seemingly to no one in particular. 

“Yes, sir,” replied his pocket, and the car suddenly gained control of itself and settled into a neat parallel park on the side of the road.

Tony rushed over to the reason he had stopped: Happy’s car was crashed into a tree only several meters away. Hood crushed, engine smoking, it was the pinnacle of a tragic accident. Upon reaching the car, Tony realized the door was open. Inside, he saw Happy’s phone sitting on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Other than that, there was no sign of him. Tony picked it up. The screen showed the missed calls from him, but nothing else. He tossed it into his pocket and started rifling through the back seat. It was empty and meticulously clean, as if the car had been bought the day before. 

Tony’s gaze scanned the area around the scene. The road he had found Happy’s car on was long, climbing, rarely used; not even a quarter mile from Tony’s house. It seemed Happy had managed to leave, taking everything with him besides his phone. He must not have seen it in his haste to leave, Tony realized. Happy could have also been bitten and wandered off somewhere as a zombie.

Tony shivered. He was suddenly very, very aware of how alone he was. He got back into his car, subconsciously locking the door as he went. He stared at the wheel for a long time. Completely still. The world around him was just as his kitchen had been; quiet, peaceful. If one were to turn their back on the smoking car crushed against the tree, it would seem as if nothing had happened. As if all way normal. There was no people running, screaming, no helicopters or police sirens, no blood splattered across the dirt.

Tony looked up. No blood. 

There hadn’t been a speck of it anywhere he had looked. That meant Happy must have escaped his car relatively unharmed, and it meant that he hadn’t been downed and eaten for breakfast. Zombies weren’t known for being clean eaters.

Happy must be alive. But where had he gone? He wasn’t anywhere on the road to Tony’s house. He could still see it from where he sat, sitting in the distance but above him. No, the man definitely hadn’t gone in that direction. Maybe he had decided to try and get back to his own house to get another car? Or maybe he had forgotten something? It was thin reasoning, Tony knew. There was no way he would head all the way back to his own house when Tony’s was actually in view from where he had crashed. It was possible that an ambulance had came and picked him up. Although, most ambulances must have been pretty preoccupied at that point. Still, he could check Happy’s house for signs.

It was a thin argument, but Tony was well aware of why he decided to pursue it. He accepted it even to himself as he put the car in drive and took off. 

He would stop at Pepper’s house, too, while he was in town. 

 

Malibu wasn’t exactly the easiest place to drive through, even on a good day. In fact, all of Los Angeles tended to be a Grade A pain in the ass as far as Tony was concerned. He often wished he could avoid it all together. He often wished there was some way he could fly over traffic, somehow. But he couldn’t imagine flying cars being all that practical. It would have to be something smaller.

He shook the idea off. It wasn’t of great importance. 

Malibu, despite its charm of being vastly overpopulated, especially at this time of year, was a ghost town. It seemed the entire town had up and left. They even left their cars behind, sitting in the middle of the road. Many were crashed into buildings, into ditched, or just left abandoned wherever they had landed. Tony couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. How had he managed to miss all of this? Had he really been that far away? 

It soon became apparent that the city wasn’t all that deserted. Tony slowed his car to a stop. At street corners in buildings, sometimes in the middle of the road, he could see them. They looked like people, just very, very dirty. There was something distinctly inhuman about them, though. Just watching them gave Tony an eerie sort of feeling. Though they looked human, and at this distance they were mostly just shapes and colors, they seemed to have a lifelessness about them. Or maybe it was just that their minds were very far away.

Tony was driving at walking pace, watching them. Even as the car approached, none of them moves. They all stood, lifeless, still. Heads cocked to the side, staring straight down, or sometimes even staring directly at the sky. Tony thought maybe he could see a couple of them staring into the blinding rays of the sun. He thought they might look up as his car approached. In his stomach he felt the knot in his stomach. He could just imagine each and every one of the lifeless creatures suddenly looking up and running directly at him. Even worse, the unforgiving realm of his imagination threw the image of Pepper, blood splattered, dead eyes and all, running at his car and trying to kill him. His breath caught in his throat. After that, he began started studying the features of each zombie with intense scrutiny. 

Tony thought he recognized a grocery store clerk he’d had before, but other than that he either didn’t recognize any others, or their faces were too ripped apart. He drove past dozens of zombies. None of them so much as looked his way. Tony had expected some kind of fight; at the very least he intended to run over a few of them with his car. He had already accepted the inevitable dents and blood stains his car would suffer. 

He made it to Happy’s house without a single incident, despite his snow white knuckles. He stopped the car in his driveway. When he tried to remove his hands from the steering wheel, he had to open and close his hands a few times to regain feeling in them. He put the car in park and killed the engine. And he sat.

He’d known the moment he got there that Happy was not home. The house had a deserted sort of feeling to it. Tony wondered if it even made sense to go inside. After realizing he might be able to find some sort of crucial evidence as to where Happy had gone, or anything about the recent outbreak, he decided it might be worth his time. 

Tony grabbed the shotgun from where it sat awkwardly at his waist and held it at the ready. He reached for the car door and clicked it open.

The heads of over a hundred zombies snapped to attention. Suddenly, the air was filled with the aroma of living flesh. They ran towards it.

Tony yelled. He saw the forms of dozens of bodies suddenly coming directly at him, from all directions. He slammed the car door shut. Shaking, he tried to start the car but couldn’t seem to find the hole it went into. The keys dropped from his hands and he fumbled to pick them up. This time though, when he thrust them forward they finally found home. He turned the key roughly and the engine roared to life. He threw it into reverse and took off as fast as he possibly could. The door was shut and Tony was cut off from the outside world, and yet the zombies still didn’t stop. He sped away down the road, running over anything that got into his way. He had only been driving for a few seconds when he realized the zombies were no longer coming towards him. They were still running towards Happy’s house. 

“Tony!” a voice called in the distance. Tony’s heart caught in his throat, and his tires screeched to a stop. He didn’t know how he was going to fight off over a hundred zombies, but in his heart, he suddenly found the courage. He had to do something to save her. 


	3. Parker

Peter Parker was sitting alone in a burger joint. He wasn’t lonely, really, just by himself. He was happily chowing down on some fries and a soda, with a burger waiting expectantly for him on his tray. The usual.

It was a pretty normal night as far as it goes. He just finished his last day of martial arts practice for the week and was ready for a relaxing couple of days. The school year was almost ready to let out for the summer, so he didn’t have much to do as far as homework. It was at that part of the year where AP exams were all finished and taken, so most classes were already over and done with all their coursework. There were a couple final assignments he had to get do, but they were just supplemental and so were pretty easy. Peter could finally relax.

He sat back in his seat and sighed. His aunt May insisted that he continued martial arts training throughout the summer, but at least he would have a break from coursework. 

“Peter, we live in a very dangerous place,” she had told him. “You never know what could happen. You need to be prepared, and sitting around all summer is only going to make you soft!”

Aunt May was pretty strict. She was pretty big on self defense and empowerment. Peter knew she came from a good place, and he always appreciated her viewpoint, but sometimes he wanted to just lay around and play video games until the sunlight hurt his eyes. Exercising was especially difficult for him at times.

Of course, Peter didn’t even want to learn martial arts. There were some aspects of it that he really enjoyed, but he had other passions in his heart.

Peter had almost finished half of his fries and so decided it was time to take a bite of the unreasonably large burger sitting in front of him. He hadn’t yet taken a bite from it. Just as he was about to, the buns just lightly grazing against his teeth, a man fell to the ground with a thud. 

The burger dropped from Peter’s hands. He got to his feet. Already, one of the workers was on her knees at the man’s side, checking his pulse. Her hands were shaking, face pale. Peter walked towards her.

“He’s dead,” the worker said. Peter stopped. Another thud. 

Next to him, a different customer fell from her chair onto her side. Peter dropped down next to her to check her pulse. Perhaps she had simply fainted from the sudden turn in events. Peter had to force himself to swallow, 

“S-She’s dead, too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Other than Peter, the two dead customers, and the worker, only one other person remained in the burger joint. He was a young boy sitting on the edge of his seat, looking like he wanted to take off. Peter didn’t blame him. “Hey kid,” he said, trying to gain some sort of confidence in his voice. The kids head snapped towards him. Pale. Petrified. “Can you call the police?” 

The kid stared at him for a long time, “I-I don’t have a phone.” The words had barely gotten out of his mouth before he turned tail and fled. 

Generally, when people dropped dead, there wasn’t much that could be done for them. Even still, he and another random teenager just trying to make some extra money couldn’t do much with two dead bodies. Peter was reaching into his pocket to grab his cell phone when the first man moved. 

“Oh, good, he’s-,” Peter began. The worker girl screamed. 

The man was up and moving, but he was far from alive, Peter realized. His eyes were crossed, unseeing, and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. He reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm, none too gently, and dragged her towards him. She resisted. Shaking and panicky as she was, it was a futile effort. Peter rushed to his feet to her aid, but by the time Peter ran across the other side of the restaurant where they were, the old man had already taken a sizeable bite from her arm. Peter landed a well-placed and powerful kicked on the side of the man’s head. His head, already twisted, cracked and crunched as it twisted even further. It was almost entirely backwards now. The skin twisted and ripped, spilling out still-fresh blood down the man’s throat and onto his chest. Even still, the man rose and awkwardly stumbled towards him.

Peter felt bile rising in his throat at the sight of the old man. He staggered and took a step back and bumped right into the woman who he had previously pronounced dead. He spun around to look at her. Her eyes were pointing in opposite directions, he head crooked, arms reaching out towards him. Instinctively, Peter lowered himself, stuck his right leg out, and spun in a swift circle, kicking the woman’s legs out from underneath her. She fell, her head cracking against a table as she did. It left an ugly gash. She didn’t seem at all swayed by this smooth attack, however, and stood herself right back up. The blood from the wound on the side of her head was dripping down her forehead and pooling into her right eye, and yet she didn’t so much as blink. Peter screamed before turning and fleeing towards the door. 

His feet smacked rhythmically against the pavement. Peter’s phone was still in his hand, he realized. Awkwardly, he fumbled at the screen and managed to access the emergency dial. He threw the phone up to his ear, breathing heavily as he continued to run.

“911, what’s your emergency?” came a young and calm voice. 

“Zombies,” Peter panted. “There’s zombies!”

“Sir, this line is for emergencies only. It is not acceptable to use it for pranks-”

“I’m serious!” Peter thought it might be easier to talk if he would stop running, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. “I was eating at that burger place downtown, Arana’s, and this guy just died. Then he came back to life and he just ate this girl that was working there! He took a big bite out of her arm!”

“It sounds like this guy is on some kind of drugs. We will dispatch a unit immediately. Arana’s in downtown Queens?”

Peter sighed. He was certain this wasn’t the result of some kind of drug. Close enough, he decided. “Yes.” 

“The police are on their way. Is the scene safe enough for you to remain there?”

“No! Are you kidding? I ran!”

“Sir, the police will need to hear your account of the incident-”

Click. Peter hung up the phone and tossed it into his pocket. No way in hell was he going back there to where the zombies were waiting to feast on him. 

Eventually, he had to stop running. He was in pretty good shape, for sure, but everyone had their limits. He had ran about a mile at the pace of a quarter mile. He put his hands behind his head, breathing hard. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to gallop like a gazelle the entire way back home. 

In the distance, screams.

Peter’s blood froze as his mind started racing. He had ran about a mile, he was sure of it. But what if he was wrong? It was possible that in his haste he had misjudged the distance. How far could a scream carry, anyway? Maybe he was hearing the screams of people from that far away, still caught in the middle of the attack. He shook his head. That was impossible, he knew; the fact of the matter was obvious. It was spreading. Fast.

Peter watched in horror as a man stumbled weakly around a corner a couple blocks down the road. His face was dripping with blood and his stomach was spilling intestines all over the sidewalk at his feet. A long, sausage like stretch of skin, his digestive track, Peter realized, was dragging along behind the man. It was filthy.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Peter took off in the same direction he had been heading before. This time, he ran at a much more reasonable pace, though there was still quite a bit of haste to his step. 

The zombie he had spotted behind him never seemed to realize he had been there in the first place. It seemed overwhelmed, unsure of which direction to head. It was still walking uncertainly, constantly changing which way it was headed when Peter last looked back at it. Still acting confused and wild, it disappeared behind a building. 

Eventually, Peter reached his home. He paused for a moment on the front porch, still breathing heavily. Once the dots had stopped swimming around his vision, he tossed the door open and lightly walked inside.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben!” he wheezed. He was still barely able to speak. He continued to take deep, even breaths as he walked in through the entryway and into the kitchen. Peter immediately had an odd feeling, almost a sort of tingle, that told him something was off. On the table was the morning newspaper, left open. It seemed as if Ben had been sitting there just moments ago, leafing through the pages and reading up on what was going on in the world around him. On the counter next to the oven was a package of hamburger, opened and unattended. The cutting board had been pulled out from its place in the cabinet and sat with a stack of finely diced tomatoes, a knife, and a bell pepper that had been cut in half but still had its seeds intact. Peter stood in the kitchen, breath bated, wondering what on earth could have caused May to leave good food sitting on the counter. 

“Peter,” came a soft voice from the living room. “It’s okay, sweetie. You need to go, now.”

Peter whirled around on his feet. May was standing in front of the door to the basement, with one hand placed carefully on it. The door, normally left ajar, was now shut tight.

“Aunt May,” Peter whimpered. “What’s going on?”

The worst part was, he was certain he already knew.


End file.
